


In This Game Together

by blackkat



Series: criminals do it better [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Coping, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Humor, M/M, Organized Crime, arms dealers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has a <i>daughter</i>. Genma's heart is pounding like the first time he defused a bomb on the fly, no gear and no plan, just adrenaline and determination and pigheadedness in equal measure. He’ll get through this, <i>they’ll</i> get through this, no matter what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Game Together

**Author's Note:**

> This would be the first part of that Genma backstory I mentioned on Tumblr. There's going to be more, but I felt this worked pretty well on its own, and I'm sick of looking at it. The series has been rearranged so it's in chronological order, but I think the timelines are fairly clear. 
> 
> Also, as a warning, this was finished on my brother’s iPad, which has no idea what to do with English or typing, so I apologize in advance for all the errors. The title is from Josef Salvat’s _Open Season_.

“You know I hate to rush you, Shiranui, but if there’s any chance at all that you could hurry this up just a little bit, I’d be eternally grateful.”

Hands full of wires, Genma just hums absently, not flinching when a stray shot hits a tree trunk less than a yard away and pelts him with wood chips. “And you know I love to cater to your every whim, Yamashiro, but somehow when you say ‘faster’ I don’t think you're referring to how quickly the countdown’s moving, so shut up and let me work.” He squints at a particular arrangement of cords, trying to figure out just what whoever put this together was thinking when they created this particularly and astonishingly suicidal layout, gives it up as a lost cause, and sinks back on his heels. “Captain, any chance you can give me a timeframe?”

“I don’t suppose _yesterday_ is an appropriate answer?” Kakashi asks mildly. There's a sudden clatter of gunfire, echoing oddly between the comms and through the jungle around them, and then he says, “Quickly. Or sooner, if possible. How’s your position looking?”

Aoba, sprawled on his belly on top of a slight rise, makes a contemplative noise. “Well, they’ve stopped shooting at us. Kind of. I think they're either running out of bullets or they're prepping some grenades. Want to lay odds?”

Genma huffs out a laugh, dragging the back of his fingerless glove over his forehead. The humidity is killer, and it’s almost enough to make him hope that the rain that’s been threatening actually arrives, if only to break a little of the oppressive heaviness. “They're probably hoping that I tug on the wrong wire and blow us into the stratosphere. Which isn’t as unlikely as I’d prefer, since whoever made this thing was clearly operating a few breakers short of a fuse-box.”

“Thank you, Shiranui, that is _exactly_ what I want to hear when I'm lying less than ten feet from the _bomb you're supposed to be defusing_ ,” Aoba hisses, twitching like he wants to leap away. Thankfully for their (admittedly meager) cover, he manages to restrain himself, and doesn’t move.

Raidou's chuckle comes in loud and clear over the comm. “And to think, you're volunteering to give up all this fun,” he says. There's a momentary scuffle, a grunt, and a heavy thud. “What are you guys going to do without all this excitement?”

With a thoughtful hum, Genma leans back over the device, trying again to make sense of it. “I think I want to open a bakery,” he says. “You know, one of those cute little café things, with fresh bread and pastries and cakes made to order. Fancy shit, but good.” Taking a chance, he carefully clips a yellow wire, and is pleasantly surprised when the whole thing doesn’t go off in his face. “Hey, would you look at that. I think I'm getting somewhere.”

There's a long, long pause, and then Aoba makes a sound that’s dangerously close to a whine. “ _Genma_. Please tell me you didn’t just start randomly pulling out wires again.”

“Would I do that?” Genma asks cheerfully, severing a blue wire with much more confidence. “I didn’t pull it out, I cut it.”

“I _hate you_ ,” Aoba growls, and takes a shot at an unfamiliar helmet that pops up on the other side of the canyon.

“So?” Anko chimes in, sounding just as cheerful as Genma. It drives their squad-mates nuts, which is absolutely fantastic, and the main reason Genma's managed to keep his jovial attitude through floods, mudslides, swamps, excessive enemy fire, and several hurricanes. Anko, he knows, is much the same. “Shiranui’s told us his depraved dream, Yamashiro. What’s yours?”

“Just for that,” Genma informs her, “you get no donuts. Ever.”

“Hm. I'm not really sure,” Aoba says over the sounds of Anko's fierce protests. “But the very first thing I'm going to do is go on a bender and not sober up for a _week_.”

Raidou snorts. “So just like every leave we’ve ever had,” he says dryly. “Captain, north quadrant is clear. Ish.”

Kakashi makes a faintly frustrated sound. “No ish,” he orders. “Ish is not a word this squad uses. It’s either clear or it isn’t, but pick one.”

“Do or do not, there is no try,” Genma intones solemnly, even as his clippers waver between a green and a red wire. “Hey, anyone object to eenie meenie miney moe?”

“I object!” Aoba offers immediately. “I object very strongly!”

“Well, it’s either that or use the Force,” Genma tells him apologetically, “because I've got no idea, and it’s going to take me some time to figure out exactly what the dipshit who wired this was doing. Seriously, I've seen spaghetti that was easier to sort through.”

“Can you blow it and just run really fast?” Anko suggests brightly. Anko is never to be listened to when there are explosions involved, because she’s far too fond of them for anyone’s comfort.

Still, Genma laughs. “Lady’s got a decent idea,” he offers, grinning. “Yamashiro, care to test it?”

“No! And can we not play chicken with my nerves and live triggers?” the other man complains. “Captain! Aren’t you supposed to say something in these situations?”

“How about ‘cut the chatter’?” Kakashi suggests dryly. “Shiranui, how long until that thing goes off? Is there a way to keep it from triggering the charges on the bridge?”

That’s the million-dollar question. Genma squints at the device doubtfully, then says, “No idea, Captain, sorry. I _think_ I've got the transmitter disconnected, but until I shut it down completely, there's no way to be sure, and I've got to get around the bomb to get at the rest. I'm good, but I'm not that good. Especially with a time limit.”

Aoba groans theatrically and then rolls from his perch. “Fine! Everybody sit tight, I'm gonna go distract the angry guys with lots of very big guns. Shiranui, just for this, you're coming to every theater performance I ever get a role in, no matter how terrible.”

“Aww, big bad Yamashiro’s a drama nerd,” Raidou drawls. “You know, I’d almost forgotten that.”

“Fuck you, I took nine years of ballet,” Aoba spits. “And anyone who says it’s not a sport can shove my pretty pointed shoes up their ass while doing a _pr_ _ésage_.”

“I'm so glad I'm retiring,” Kakashi says, sounding almost awed. “ _So_ glad.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’d give you grey hairs if you didn’t already have such a pretty silver head,” Genma drawls, grinning. “Yamashiro, my theater-going time is yours, provided we survive the next hour. I’ll even bring you a bouquet of roses after every performance, my hand to god.”

Aoba takes a breath, huffs, “Deal,” and then rolls to his feet and bolts through the undergrowth. There's a pause, and then a flurry of shots, but since he can still hear Aoba complaining, Genma doesn’t worry. He ducks closer, blinking sweat out of his eyes, and starts tracing relays.

“Movement in the west quadrant. Heading your way, Shiranui,” Anko reports, and a moment later the sound of running footsteps comes over the comm. “I’ll try to head them off, but keep your head down. It’s too pretty to get a bullet in it.”

“You're a doll, Mitarashi,” Genma laughs. “Anybody near me? This’ll take twice as long if I have to stop every few seconds to return fire.”

Aoba grunts. There's the crack of a gun, and then he complains, “Damn it, Shiranui, you're so high-maintenance. No wonder you never get laid.”

“Fuck you, Yamashiro, I get laid more often than you do,” Genma shoots back. It’s technically true, or it was until a few months ago. Breakups tend to kill his libido, even when they're mutual. “Are they still shooting at you?”

“No, we decided that guns are overrated, so we’re braiding daisy chains and singing fucking Kumbaya.” Aoba yelps, half an instant before a rapid clatter of shots sounds. Genma's breath catches, but then the swearing picks up again and he sighs in relief. “Goddamn it, can't this mission be _over_?”

Raidou snorts. “Not until Shiranui gets his head in the game and does his job,” he says. “What’s the holdup, Gen?”

“Hey, I am more than happy to swap with someone if you're not satisfied with how I'm doing. I would _much_ rather be mindlessly shooting at people than _disarming bombs_ without any of the usual safety gear,” Genma points out. He chews on his lower lip for a moment, debating, then clips the red, black, and green wires in quick succession. There's a sharp beep, a whir, and the blinking light on the side of the trigger goes out. Genma gives it a long moment just to be sure it isn’t going to explode, then lets out a sigh that’s shaky with pent-up stress. “God damn, I hate this job. Okay, bomb’s been defused. I'm dismantling the transmitter now.”

There are several murmurs of relief over the line, and Kakashi orders, “Get it done, and then head for the bridge. Namiashi, Mitarashi, circle around and take out the shooters. Yamashiro and I will give him cover while he dismantles the charges. And Shiranui? Good job.”

“I live to please, Captain,” Genma says cheekily, even as he starts unscrewing bolts and tugging metal plates off. This part, at least, is fairly straightforward. Since there's little chance of things going off in his face, he doesn’t have to take quite as much care. “Far be it from me to be the cause of our last mission together going less than smoothly.”

“It’s definitely not going to be the same without you three around,” Raidou says a little wistfully. “I give it three months before you're so bored you try to reenlist.”

Like hell, Genma thinks, but doesn’t say. “Shut up, Namiashi, like you're one to talk. You're jumping over to be an instructor. Only excitement you’ll find there is screaming at rookie wannabes.”

Raidou groans. “Don’t remind me. Maybe I can throw myself under a bus before the first day.”

Anko cackles like the evil creature she is. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be _fun_ ,” she cheers. “Just think about _our_ instructors and what they put us through. Now we get to return the favor.”

“I actually kind of liked training,” Genma muses. He tucks the timer into his pack, seals the charge into a special case to keep it from getting damaged, and scatters the last of the bolts into the surrounding forest.

“Yeah, but it sure as hell didn’t like you,” Anko points out gleefully. “I don’t think the instructors were ever that relieved to see the back of someone. They didn’t appreciate your smart mouth. Don’t you still have some kind of record for amount of time spent on punishment detail?”

With a chuckle, Genma swings his pack over his shoulder and makes for the bridge across the canyon, keeping his head down. “Yeah,” he says fondly. “They put my picture up on a wall and everything. I think that old bastard still uses me as an example of the worst possible recruit.”

“Oh? I thought it was just me you were insubordinate to,” Kakashi comments, ducking around a tree. He pauses, checking their surroundings, and then waves Aoba forward.

Genma offers the captain a smirk and a salute. “Sorry, sir. You're still my favorite, I promise.”

Kakashi chuckles lazily, then asks, “Namiashi, how’s it going?”

“Almost in position,” Raidou answers. “Give us three minutes. They’ve got some scouts in this direction.”

“All right.” Kakashi tips his head sideways. “Come on, we’ll get closer. Shiranui, got an estimate for how long you need?”

Genma squints through the jungle, just able to make out the stark lines of the bridge against the backdrop of trees and sky. It’s about a hundred feet long, with supports every few yards—that’s likely where the charges are, probably staggered, given that’s what he would do if he were the one blowing it. The calculations only take a moment to figure, and he hums. “Charges every ten feet, I’ll bet, maybe on both sides—I can disarm a charge in about seventy-five seconds as long as I'm not getting shot at. Say…fifteen minutes, on the outside?”

“You have ten,” Kakashi tells him, because he’s a perfectionist genius bastard and expects everyone to be just as good. Genma fixes him with an exasperated glare, growls, and pushes forward to the edge of the treeline. He waits just until he hears Raidou's murmured warning that they're about to engage, then bolts forward, keeping his head low. Shots pepper the ground around him, but he hurls himself behind the first girder of the bridge and immediately stoops to check the chunk of Semtex that’s been placed there.

Unlike the detonator, this trigger is familiar, and Genma lets out of breath of relief, pulling out his wire clippers again. “Basic manual detonators,” he reports. “I might just make that time limit after all, Captain.”

“Because god forbid you actually follow an order when it’s not convenient,” Kakashi says dryly, even as he skids into a crouch next to Genma.

That earns him a laugh, and Genma glances up just enough to flash him a crooked grin. “Hey, just being realistic. We’re not all geniuses who breezed through training in a quarter of the regular time.”

“Which reminds me,” Aoba says brightly, sandwiching himself behind the next girder ahead of them and taking a shot at a particularly brave marksman. “What are _your_ plans, Captain? Got a job lined up?”

Kakashi hums thoughtfully, leaning to the side enough to do another sweep of their surroundings. “Remember that friend of mine I was telling you about?”

“The one with the fondness for spandex?” Genma asks absently. He shoves the dismantled charge into its case with the other, then hurries to the next one. It’s even quicker this time, and not only because a shot clanging into the steel inches from his face gives his fingers extra speed.

“Him,” Kakashi acknowledges, sounding faintly weary. “Our fathers were on the police force together, and his father still has an advisory positon, so he pulled some strings to let me enroll in the academy.”

“The police?” Aoba demands. “Really? Captain, that’s…”

“Weird,” Genma finishes for him, and when Kakashi glares at both of them just gives him an innocent look. “Hey, you forget I've met your father. He’s going to be _ecstatic_ that you're following in his footsteps.”

Kakashi grimaces. “Don’t remind me.” He brings his gun up, taking a quick shot at a man on the cliff before he can fire, and says, “That’s not why I'm doing it.”

Honestly, Genma doesn’t need to ask for the real reason. It’s Kakashi's own business, and beyond that, he can guess. There's only so much hurt you can cause before it starts eating away at you, and he hopes that Kakashi can find some peace in helping people instead.

He already knows that kind of thing won't work for him.

Gritting his teeth, he heads for the next charge, Kakashi on his heels, and pushes the thought out of his mind. He focuses on the wires under his fingers, the thud of his pulse in his ears, and the mantra of _last mission, this is our last mission and then we’re done_ that’s been keeping him going all week. Just a few hours more, the debriefing, and then he just has to pack his bags and get on a plane. In forty-eight hours, he’ll be back home in Konoha, and that’s all he needs to start his life over.

Maybe this time he’ll be able to make something more of himself than just a soldier.

 

 

Returning to Konoha doesn’t feel like the triumphant homecoming that Genma always pictured. Maybe it’s because Konoha is just as hot and muggy as the jungle they just left, a late summer thunderstorm hanging heavy over the city. Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s just him and Aoba stepping off the plane and onto the wet tarmac. There's no one waiting, no one looking for them amidst the crowd. Kakashi is back at base, taking care of the last of his paperwork—he’s a chronic slacker when it comes to such things, and it’s enough to try even Genma's patience, so he’d elected not to wait.

Midnight has just struck, and the rain is starting. Genma stands on the sidewalk outside the airport, duffle bag with all his earthly belongings slung over one shoulder, best friend at his side, and the world feels so empty and open that he can't quite breathe. After so many years of structure and certainty, he’s not entirely certain he likes the feeling.

At length, Aoba sighs softly, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Subway’s over there,” he offers, sounding just as tired and out of place as Genma feels. “Where are we headed now?”

Back into the city proper is enough for Genma at the moment. He turns and falls into step with the other man, taking the stairs down into the station slowly. “We?” he asks. “Don’t you have a bender to get to, Yamashiro?”

Aoba snorts. “Oh, right, like my first response to a bunch of meatheads asking me my life’s dream was going to be ‘find the nearest theater group and beg on my knees until they accept me’. Thanks but no thanks. Besides, you’ve pulled me out of enough messes. Figure I might as well watch you back, see if I can return the favor.”

That startles a laugh out of Genma, loud and freer than it’s been since he can remember. He casts Aoba a grin, relief bubbling up in his chest, and points out, “You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot of watching to balance the scales, Yamashiro. I'm certain Mitarashi’s got a list of all the times I saved your ass somewhere, and I'm sure as hell calling her up to get it.”

“Asshole,” Aoba complains good-naturedly, but since he’s grinning too Genma doesn’t take it to heart. They pause on the platform, checking the signs, and he sighs and rakes a hand through his messy hair. “Where to? Might be able to find a hotel downtown.”

Genma hesitates, studying the signs, and then glances sidelong at his friend. Aoba didn’t have the easiest childhood either, but it wasn’t quite the same flavor of difficult as Genma's. Still, they’ve been squad-mates for almost a decade. They signed up together. If Genma can't trust Aoba, there's no one alive he can trust. “How about the waterfront?” he asks, keeping his voice mild.

There's a pause, because Aoba knows Genma more than well enough to be wary of that tone. He eyes Genma carefully, then asks, “Why do I get the feeling you're not talking about the ritzy area by the marina?”

“Nah, a couple of my mom’s old friends are still hanging around down by the docks,” Genma says with a shrug, holding his gaze steadily. “They’ll be able to get us into an apartment tonight if I call in a favor. Nothing fancy, but it’ll have four walls and a roof.”

He doesn’t have to spell it out any further; there's only one type of people with that much leverage who deal in favors and hang around the docks. Aoba’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline, and he gives a low whistle. “God damn. Your mom was a mobster?”

“Arms dealer,” Genma corrects, but Aoba’s not running or calling the cops, so he allows himself to relax a little. “Family business. I was too young to take over when she died, and then some asshole talked me into joining the army.”

“Hey!” that same asshole protests. “I was doing a valuable service to this city by keeping you out of a life of crime.” He considers for a moment, then snorts. “Well, briefly. Whatever, I've heard worse. Lay on, Macbeth, we’ve got gangsters to cash in favors with.”

“Rule one: don’t call them gangsters.” Genma shakes his head, amused and relieved in equal measure. “For that matter, just let me do the talking. Things tend to go south the minute you open your mouth, and I’d rather not spend the rest of my life ducking the mob.”

“Makes it hard to run a cutesy little bakery,” Aoba agrees cheerfully. He nudges Genma towards the uptown train that’s just pulling into the station, and then says, “Oh! Think they can find something near the theater district for us? I’d rather not have to spend all my remaining money on subway fares getting to and from auditions.”

Genma laughs. “Like I've said, I love to cater to your every whim, Yamashiro. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome.” Aoba beams and claps him on the shoulder. “You and me, Shiranui. We can totally handle civilian life. And then we can laugh our asses off at the captain when he gets here and fails epically at adjusting.”

“Sounds good to me,” Genma agrees, and turns his back on the wet, heavy darkness outside as their train pulls out, heading for the bright glow of the city.

 

 

Almost a decade of ingrained habit has Genma's eyes snapping open just before the clock strikes six, and he stares uncomprehendingly at the ceiling for a long moment before groaning in despair and tossing an arm over his eyes. Apartment hunting with the mob took most of the night, and he’s had a grand total of two hours of sleep. Everything hurts, and his eyes feel like someone took sandpaper to them.

On the other side of the bare mattress, Aoba swears and drags his pillow over his head. “Goddamn motherfucking shit,” he says. “At least when I'm drunk off my ass I can _sleep_.”

Genma's old man was an alcoholic, and while he’ll drink every once in a while he’s not about to tempt fate, but he can admit that unthinking oblivion sounds nice right about now. Still, he’s awake, and he knows from experience that he won't be able to go back to sleep—he’ll just lie there, twitching with paranoia and waiting for Anko to come bouncing in and do something unspeakable. Even on days off, she never lets them sleep past six. That’s one thing Genma's definitely not going to miss.

With a low sigh, Genma levers himself up. They’d both been too tired to take more than their shirts off last night, so he grabs his off the bedpost and drags it over his head, then pauses. The apartment isn’t completely bare, though the furnishings are fairly battered, and through the open bedroom door Genma has a direct line of sight to the kitchen. The empty kitchen, since they’d hardly been in any state to grab groceries by the time everything was finalized.

“God,” he says, dragging his hands over his face. “I _really_ want a cup of coffee.”

Apparently able to parse the lament implied by his words, Aoba groans, muffled by rather dusty cotton. They’d been lucky to find even that much in the linen closet, honestly, pushed back and forgotten on the top shelf. Not that they haven’t slept in worse places, granted. “Shit,” he sighs. “And _real_ eggs. Maybe even _bacon_.”

Genma will admit that a breakfast of non-powdered eggs sounds like absolute heaven, except for the trek to the store that will be required to make it. Still, there's no changing facts, so he slides off the mattress and orders, “Get your ass up, Yamashiro. I'm not carting back enough stuff to fill your black hole of a stomach all by myself. Earn your keep.”

The pillow shifts, and one dark blue eye squints at him. “Does this mean you're cooking?”

With a roll of his eyes, Genma balls up Aoba’s shirt and chucks it at him. “Yeah, yeah. Up. I’ll even make scones if you carry most of the bags.”

“You are the best person ever and I would marry you in a heartbeat,” Aoba swears, sitting up and pulling his shirt on.

“And the mystery of why you're living with me is solved,” Genma drawls. “You just want my cooking, you damned leech.”

Aoba grins. “Well, I _did_ offer to make an honest man of you,” he points out cheekily, following Genma out into the main room. “Come on, we even slept together! And I would make a terrific husband.”

“We slept together because we were both too lazy to pull the wrapping off the other mattresses,” Genma reminds him. “Besides, I swore I’d never give myself the grief of marrying an artist. You're out of luck.”

The other man opens his mouth as if to protest, pauses, and gives up with a sigh. “All right, fair enough. Speaking of which, you going to start looking for a place to rent?”

“You mean for a bakery?” Genma shrugs, sliding his phone and wallet into his pockets and checking for his set of keys. “Yeah, might as well. I saw a couple of storefronts with rent signs in them on our way here. Once we’re settled I’ll give them a call and see how it goes. If something’s going to happen, it’ll happen.”

“The fact that you managed to be one of the best Rangers to ever graduate the program with an attitude like that constantly amazes me.” Aoba holds the door for him, then trails after him out into the hallway. “It’s honestly terrifying.”

Genma grins at him, crooked and lazy, as they start down the stairs. “Hey, you forget that I'm always the one getting up close and personal with things that go boom. If I was all tense about it, I probably wouldn’t have held on to as much of my sanity as I did.”

“This assuming you had any to start with,” Aoba needles. “You screwed the captain, so I'm going to say that your taste isn’t the only thing that’s suspect here.” He clearly catches the smirk Genma shoots him, because he immediately throws his hands up. “Whoa! That was _not_ an invitation to overshare! I already know way more about your sex life than I ever cared to, Gen. This thing you have about punishing anyone who insults you by providing too much information _really_ needs to stop.”

Genma laughs before he can help it, feeling light for the first time since they boarded the plane yesterday morning. He half-turns as they round the landing, ready to rib Aoba a little more, and promptly slams into what feels like a solid wall. He doesn’t even have time to yelp before he’s falling, and—

An arm catches him around the waist.

Genma blinks, and all he can see is green. He lifts his head, already getting his feet back under him, and meets bright black eyes under heavy brows, a strong jawline and a handsome face. He swallows, feeling a flicker of unexpected attraction, and lets his eyes flicker down.

Well. Not many men would be able to pull off a tracksuit in that particular color, but then again, most men don’t look like they're entirely made of muscle, either.

“Sorry about that,” he manages, and it takes effort not to let himself flush when he realizes the stranger’s arm is still holding him steady. “I should have been looking where I was going.”

That gets him a grin, bright and wide and very white. “It’s no problem!” the man insists. “I should have as well, but there aren’t usually many people awake at this hour, and those who are take the elevator. What youthful spirit you two have, to be up so early!”

Genma catches his balance and shifts back, offering the man a smile in return. He tries not to feel disappointed what that strong arm lets him go. “Habit,” he explains with a shrug. “I'm Genma Shiranui. We just moved in.”

Aoba is eyeing him in a vaguely disbelieving way, but at Genma's pointed glance he snorts softly and offers a brief wave. “Aoba Yamashiro.”

“And I am Gai Maito!” the stranger announces with another bright grin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both! If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my apartment before my son wakes. Have a lovely and youthful day!” With a cheerful wave, he bounds up the staircase, disappearing through the doorway to the floor they just left, and Genma casts one last appreciative glance after that really fantastic ass before he turns back around.

Aoba is still staring at him, and this time the incredulity is blatantly obvious.

“Don’t fucking say it,” Genma warns him. “Don’t you—”

“Your goddamn _taste_ , Genma,” Aoba laments, very clearly not listening to him. “I could understand Kakashi, because exposure makes him seem like less of an asshole and he’s admittedly very hot, but _that_? _Really_?”

“He’s _fit_ ,” Genma defends, feeling heat creeping up his cheeks. “If you had a body like that and showed it off with a skintight tracksuit, I’d be drooling over you too.”

Aoba snorts. “And the way you went wobbly-kneed when he smiled has _nothing_ to do with it.”

Genma will be the first to admit that he is an absolute sucker for a nice smile, and Gai's was very nice indeed. Still, he’s hardly about to tell Aoba that, so he pointedly starts down the stairs again. “He’s got a kid,” he reminds Aoba. “That puts money on him being straight. _And_ married.”

“What, living with this shining example of bisexuality hasn’t taught you anything yet?” Aoba retorts. He catches Genma's glare and sighs. “Fine, fine. Be a masochist. Given who your last relationship was with, I knew you had that tendency, but _damn_ , Gen.”

“Fuck off, Aoba,” Genma huffs, rolling his eyes. They hit the lobby and head out the main door, into a light drizzle that’s more a heavy mist than anything. It’s not too warm, though, and Genma doesn’t mind it. Anything is better than the oppressive mugginess of last night and the last few weeks.

Aoba flips him off in return, but lets the subject drop. “There _was_ a coffee maker in the kitchen, right? Because I'm pretty sure the supermarket isn’t going to have them in stock, and I've yet to find a department store that opens at the ass-crack of dawn.”

“Which it’s not,” Genma points out, checking his phone. “Six-fifteen doesn’t count as ass-crack of dawn. Doesn’t matter, though—there was one under the sink, I'm pretty sure, and there were a couple of pots and pans. We could always just make it on the stove.”

“As long as it’s not instant I’ll be happy.” Aoba nudges him left, out of the path of a particularly unobservant jogger and her dog, and then points around the corner and across the street. “Hey, over there. I didn’t realize it was so close.”

Neither had Genma. This isn’t the best neighborhood, but he’s rather pleased with what they managed to snag. The apartment is conveniently located, and it’s also large, with three bedrooms and plenty of floor-space. All in all, things could be much worse.

The street is all but empty, so Genma cuts across the road as soon as it looks clear instead of waiting for a light. Aoba makes a noise like he’s going to protest, but as ever he’s just one step behind, and Genma flashes him a small smile as the approach the market’s doors. Clearly understanding, Aoba rolls his eyes right back, but there's a certain slant to his mouth that Genma knows to read as amused. They're falling back into bad habits, the two of them—or maybe good, depending on how one looks at it. Not civilian habits, definitely, but they’ve spent the last ten years as soldiers; that’s likely to be expected.

“Need to hit a thrift store or something today,” Genma murmurs as they collect a basket, remembering their distinct lack of dishes beyond a few cobwebby plates and one lonely cracked wineglass.

Aoba makes a face. “I guess. Damn, I forgot what penny-pinching was like. One thing I didn’t miss about civilian life.”

Genma just shrugs. It’s easy enough to fall back to that kind of mindset, and they're hardly in a desperate situation right now. “Neither one of us is looking at a high-income future,” he says wryly, “unless you’ve got a ticket to Broadway tucked away somewhere that you haven’t told me about.

The other man snorts. “Ha! I'm more likely to get picked to play a horse in a remake of Cinderella. The back end, mind you. It’s been _years_ since I even set foot on a stage, and ballet or not, acting companies like to see at least some credentials. I might end up crawling to you and begging for a job before the month is out.”

“No begging required,” Genma says with an offhand shrug, carefully not looking at him. “You know that. Got your back, Yamashiro.”

Aoba bumps their shoulders together companionably. “Yeah, I know. Just throwing it out there.”

The shrill, unexpected shriek of a phone going off makes Genma flinch and Aoba jump, and it takes Genma a solid seven seconds to realize that it’s his. Frowning in confusion, because the only one who’d call him is Kakashi—and Kakashi's ringtone is and always will be the shark’s theme from _Jaws_ —he digs it out of his pocket and studies the screen. The indication that it’s an unknown caller just deepens the frown, and for half a second he considers letting it go to voicemail.

Before he can, though, some impulse stops him. Deciding that it’s probably important if someone’s calling at a quarter after six, he accepts the call. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this First Lieutenant Genma Shiranui?” It’s a woman’s voice, older and brisk, but still kind.

“It is,” Genma agrees a little warily, passing the basket off to Aoba. He tips his head towards the corner of the store with a faint shrug, and Aoba nods, heading down the first aisle as Genma steps back so he’ll be out of the way.

“Oh, wonderful.” Relief creeps into the woman’s tone. “I hope I didn’t wake you, but your commanding officer gave me your number. I’ve been trying to reach you since the fifteenth, but the lady I spoke with told me you were on deployment and out of reach.”

There's a sinking feeling in Genma's gut. If she’s been trying to get ahold of him that much, it has to be something serious, but Genma honestly can't think what it could be. He doesn’t have any family left to lose, not even distantly, and the squad’s all accounted for. “I'm sorry,” he manages after a moment. “Who is this?”

There's a brief, startled pause. “Oh, forgive me, Lieutenant. My mouth seems to be running away with me this morning. I'm Nonō Yakushi, with Social Services. I'm sorry, but…were you aware that you have a daughter?”

For a long moment, Genma is absolutely certain that he heard her wrong. He opens his mouth to protest that he’s decidedly gay, but something freezes the words in his mouth. He takes a breath, feeling like the world is spinning just a bit, and says very carefully, “How old?”

“She turned eleven in March,” Nonō answers promptly.

Twelve years ago, Genma had been a stupid sixteen-year-old, trying to fit himself into other people’s boxes. He hadn’t ever managed it, but it had taken him until he was twenty to stop trying. One of those tries had been a girlfriend, brilliant and sweet and beautiful and everything a boy could want—any boy but him, at least.

“Mei,” he says quietly. “You're talking about—Mei never told me she was pregnant.”

“I had thought it was something like that.” Nonō sounds tired. “Your name is on the birth certificate, but the girl didn’t know who you were or what had happened to you. She says her mother never spoke of it.”

Past tense. And since he’s getting a call from Social Services, Genma can only assume that Mei is dead. It hurts, if dully. She’d been a friend, older and wiser and always funny, in school to become a teacher. He wonders if she managed it; they’d lost touch after their breakup.

He has a daughter. Genma presses his back against the corner of a shelf and lets his legs fold. He slides to the ground, leaning forward to rest his head on his bent knees, and reminds himself to breathe. He has a _daughter_.

“Are you all right?” Nonō asks gently. “I'm sure this must be a shock.”

Genma laughs hoarsely. “Ma’am, I've come across land mines that were less surprising. This is one hell of a way to start my first morning as a civilian.”

The woman chuckles a little. “Yes, I suppose that’s the case. But I couldn’t wait, Lieutenant. Mei passed away three weeks ago, and your daughter needs a home. Are you in any sort of position to provide that for her?”

There's no part of Genma that could ever possibly say no. He’s more than capable of being a cold-blooded bastard when he has to be, but…this isn’t that kind of situation. This isn’t anything close to it. This is a little girl, his flesh and blood, without anyone to care for her. Genma can remember when his own mother died, can remember bouncing around the foster system until he was eighteen and spending most of his nights on Aoba or Raidou's couches, and he wouldn’t subject his daughter to something like that, ever.

It was fine, _he’s_ fine, but given the chance to prevent someone else suffering the same? He’ll jump in with both feet and not look back.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, of course I’ll take her. What do I have to do?”

There's a very clear smile in Nonō’s voice as she answers. “If you have an email, I’ll send you a list of the documentation you’ll need to bring to my office. I know this is very sudden, so I'm going to try to hurry things through the official channels as much as I can.”

There are probably a few people Genma can put a call in to as well, though he’s not about to say that. Instead, he rattles off his email address, lets her set an appointment for that afternoon, and tries not to think of just how long this day is going to be. He’s hand longer, regardless, and it’s for the best cause he can think of.

God, Kakashi is going to be so infuriatingly amused.

Just before Nonō hangs up, Genma clears his throat and asks quickly, “I—sorry, what's her name?”

There's a pause, almost long enough to make Genma think he’s said something wrong, and then Nonō chuckles. “Of course,” she says gently. “It’s Tenten. Her name’s Tenten.”

Genma drags a hand through his long hair, repeating it silently to himself. Mei was gorgeous, and he’s sure her daughter— _his_ daughter—will be just as beautiful. He just…can't quite picture it. He’s never planned for a family, or even really thought of having one. And now he does.

“Will she be there?” he asks. “Can I meet her?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Nonō promises. “Until this afternoon, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Genma murmurs, then pulls the phone away from his ear. He’s still staring at it when it goes dark, because his brain is so empty of all thought that it feels as if it’s buzzing. There's nothing about this that makes any sort of sense, none of the last ten minutes are anything logical or understandable, and yet—

And yet Genma's heart is pounding like his first day of basic all over again, excitement leeching into every vein and winding his muscles tight. It’s similar to the first time he defused a bomb on the fly, no gear and no plan, just adrenaline and determination and pigheadedness in equal measure. He’ll get through this, _they’ll_ get through this, no matter what.

A familiar figure crouches down next to him, startling him out of his thoughts, and Genma glances up to Aoba's worried face, seeing the concern he isn’t even trying to hide. “You okay, Gen?” Aoba asks. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

That’s metaphorically accurate enough that Genma has to laugh. He drags a hand through his hair again, shoving it out of his eyes, and laces his fingers over the back of his neck as he favors Aoba with a wry smile. “Yeah, just about. So I know you only just proposed to me, Aoba, but how do you feel about kids?”

Aoba blinks, clearly poleaxed. He takes a breath, then sets the full shopping basket to the side and sinks down to sit next to Genma. “Judging by the look on your face, I'm going to assume that this _isn’t_ an ill-timed and very inappropriate joke. That call…?”

“Social Services,” Genma confirms, closing his eyes. Familiar shoulders bump his, and he looks up with a smile he can't help but show. “God, Aoba, I have a _daughter_.”

Draping an arm around him, Aoba leans back against the shelf with a heavy exhale. “That’s…wow. But—the last woman you were with was…”

“Mei.” Genma's smile turns crooked at the thought, and he shakes his head. “I—she never told me. I swear, I wouldn’t have—I’d—”

“Hey.” Knuckles rap hard against his skull. “You think I don’t know that, Shiranui? You’d have dropped everything if she had. Maybe she knew that, too, and that’s why she never said anything. Mei had a solid head on her shoulders. The two of you could have taken over the world with practicality and pragmatism if you were just a little more motivated.”

“I was plenty motivated,” Genma protests, batting his hand away. “I dragged your ass through Ranger School, didn’t I?” He rubs his palms hard over his face, takes a faintly shaky breath, and says, “This—this is going to change everything. God, I have no idea what to do with _myself_ , and now I've got a kid to look after, too?”

“Then it’s a good thing we’ve got that extra bedroom, isn’t it?” Aoba points out. “Besides, Genma, I hate to be the one to say it, but you’ve always been better at looking after other people than you are at looking after yourself. It’s enough to give a guy a complex.”

Genma can't fight a laugh. “I think your ego will survive. But…she’s going to need clothes, and there’ll be school fees, and things for her room, and all the overhead for the bakery—god, Aoba, what am I going to do?”

“Whatever you have to.” Aoba hooks a hand around the back of his skull, leaning in to bump their foreheads together. “Genma, I know you. You're not the kind of person to let anything get in the way of taking care of that little girl. Besides, I'm here too. We’ll figure it out.”

With a long, low sigh, Genma curls his fingers around Aoba's elbow, squeezing gently. “You're a lifesaver, Aoba. Not sure what I’d do without you.”

“Crash and burn,” Aoba says cheerfully. “It would be dramatic and painful and very, very tragic. But that’s okay, because I'm pretty sure I’d do the same. Besides, I've always wanted to be a godfather.”

Genma snorts. “Like hell. You're her crazy uncle and you already know it. There's no getting out of it, Yamashiro.”

Aoba laughs, grinning at the implication. He doesn’t protest, though, just bumps Genma's shoulder again and says, “Come on, we’ve got stuff to do and my ass is going numb. Let’s get this stuff home before the ice cream melts and then make a plan. Can't let the captain show us up whenever he drags his sorry butt back to the city.”

“Ice cream?” Genma protests. “For breakfast? What are you, three?”

“For later!” Aoba defends, climbing to his feet. “Later! I'm a grown man and I'm unemployed, I can eat ice cream for lunch if I want.”

“If you get fat it’s going to be hard to fit into your tutu,” Genma says cheekily, but he takes Aoba's hand and lets the other man pull him up off the ground.

“Hey! Fuck you, Shiranui, my figure is the _epitome_ of perfection.” Aoba punches him in the shoulder, and Genma just laughs.

 

 

The office is small, industrial, and done up in enough shades of white to remind Genma uncomfortably of a hospital. He can feel tension coiling down his spine but doesn’t let it show, keeping his gait loose and his hands at his sides. It’s enough to make him wish it wasn’t too warm for a jacket, because pockets would at least give him something to fiddle with, but he pushes past the discomfort and raps his knuckles against the door with Nonō Yakushi’s nameplate on it.

There's a brief pause before the door clicks open, and a woman with long, pale brown hair smiles at him. Her face is kind, if slightly lined with age and stress, and she holds out a hand to him. “Lieutenant? It’s so nice to meet you in person.”

“Same to you, ma’am,” Genma returns, shaking her hand, but his eyes slide past her, to the cramped interior of the office. A desk sits in the far corner, with two chairs in front of it, and one of them is occupied. The girl looks back at him, eyes steady and certain, and Genma finds he can't quite breathe.

She looks like his mother, is his first thought. Mei’s eyes, but…he can see his mother in the shape of her face, the color of her hair. He smiles before he can help it, and Tenten blinks as if startled. She hesitates, then offers him a small smile in return.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Nonō murmurs, slipping past Genma and out the door, but Genma hardly notices. He steps into the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

“Tenten, right?” he asks gently, crouching down on his heels in front of her. “Hey. I'm Genma Shiranui.”

Tenten studies him for a long moment, sharp steel-grey eyes flickering over him. “Mom says—she said you were a soldier,” she says quietly. “And that you didn’t know about me.”

Genma nods. “We broke up for a couple of reasons, but one of them was that I was joining the army. She never told me about you, or I would have been here sooner.”

Tenten chews on her lower lip—Mei’s habit, Genma thinks with a pang. “I…didn’t expect you to come,” she whispers, like it’s a confession. “Mom’s dad didn’t want to take me, and I thought…”

He can remember that Mei’s father was very, very conservative, but that’s an asshole move, and Genma wants to pound the old bastard’s face in for it. “Sorry,” he says again. “I just signed my discharge papers yesterday, and got into Konoha last night. But…if you don’t mind living with another army buddy of mine, I’d love to have you stay with me. I know we’re strangers right now, and you just lost your mom, so everything’s going to be hard, but I've always wanted a family.”

“You don’t have one either?” Tenten asks, and there's a spark coming into her eyes, something fierce and stubborn that Genma has seen in the mirror more than once. It makes him smile, just a little, to see that flash of himself in someone else.

“My mom died when I was a bit younger than you,” Genma admits. “And my dad disappeared when I was little. I never knew anyone else, so I'm really, really glad that you're here.”

Tenten watches him for another long moment, then informs him, “I don’t like dolls, and I want to learn martial arts and fencing and I'm going to be the best at both of them no matter what.”

As if that’s a turn-off. Genma laughs, offering his hand. “Good,” he says. “I don’t know a lot about fencing, but I can definitely teach you how to throw a punch, and I've been doing Krav Maga for a few years now, if you want to learn. We’ll find you a fencing instructor as soon as possible, too.”

It’s a little heartening to see how Tenten's eyes light up that that. “Really?” she demands. “You're not just saying it to make me like you? I can learn? Because girls are just as strong as boys, and—”

Genma grins, warm and crooked. “Damn, Anko is going to _love_ you. She’s the toughest soldier I've ever met, and we were on the same team for years. Believe me, kiddo, you don’t have to convince me.”

“The family they put me with doesn’t like it,” Tenten admits, her mouth twisting unhappily. “They keep trying to give me dolls and dresses and they're nice, but I hate it.”

“No worries,” Genma assures her. “You're coming home with me as soon as possible, I promise, and you can be whatever you want. Just so long as you're happy.”

Tenten smiles at him, the sadness slipping away, and asks a little shyly, “Can I call you Dad?”

It makes something curl and twist pleasantly in Genma's chest, and he reaches out automatically to ruffle her hair, careful not to mess up her neat buns. “Anything you want, Tenten,” he swears. “I’d really like that, if you're sure.”

Her mouth sets into a determined line, and in a blur of movement, she lurches out of her chair and throws her arms around his neck in a quick, hard hug. “ _Yes_ ,” she insists. “Thank you, Dad.”

Genma wraps his arms around her in return, and forces himself to breathe. It’s going to be all right. This is going to work. There's no way he’ll allow things to do otherwise. “My pleasure, kiddo,” he whispers into her hair. “Thank _you_.”

Maybe, maybe, this is how he’ll finally turn himself into something more than just a soldier.

And if he had to pick, really, ‘dad’ sounds like a pretty great start.


End file.
